July 15th 1789
by The Dishwasher
Summary: Lady de Jarjayes must come to terms with her deepest, most hated, most real fear.


**Disclaimer:** The Rose of Versailles and its characters do not belong to me. This fanwork does not profit me in any way.  
**Concept:** Mothers are usually under-represented in these sorts of stories. Lady Jarjayes must come to terms with her deepest, most hated, most real fear.

July 15th, 1789

The house is so quiet now. I almost wish I could hear something. Anything. A sigh. The echo of confident footsteps on the marbled stair. Or the resonance of the piano. Won't you play, Oscar? I do love your interpretation of Bach. You'd play when it would rain outside. Well, it is raining, Oscar. It rains so heavily, but I am deaf to it in this empty mansion. How I wish that the thunder would shake this very house, to remind me that I am still here. How long have I been sitting here, Oscar?

Your uniform is so dusty. I should take it off and send it to be cleaned. But…but will it wash you away? Oscar…My hand shakes so. Such coarse material; not like your jacket of the Royal Guard. Should we mend these nasty holes? I can feel the fabric stiffen beneath my fingers…it is stained. Oh, Oscar. Had you kept your position by the side of our Queen, where would you be? These are turbulent times. I am glad that you chose to do what you believed what's right. Farewell to satin sashes on the decorative uniforms. But did you ever want to wear dresses like your sisters?

Once, Oscar, you wore a dress, but I could hardly recognise you. You were so delicate and fragile, a thin crystal flute, a reflection of your true self. Such a tiny waist, and long, thin arms. How could you wield a sword with such power yet capture the palace dance floor with such grace? It was not you. You were happy, weren't you, Oscar? It was hard, but you thrilled at living as a man? Didn't you?

Perhaps not. I could not imagine myself in your shoes. In men's clothes. I did not tell you, but just once, I put on your father's uniform while he was away at Lyon. I grew afraid of that image of me in the mirror. Perhaps you were used to it, wearing culottes from an early age. But you had a life that your sisters could only dream of, my darling. Perhaps in time women will cease being seen as subordinate to men. Perhaps, after the Revolution, we will not be deprived of our education, nor limited to working in the house. How long do you think it will take? But you…you walked ahead of your time, don't you know. Fencing and horseback riding, throwing your life in jeopardy for your beliefs. Did you enjoy it?

I am torn, as I have forever been, at your father's decision, Oscar. Who were you? I was not permitted to become close to you – but oh, I wanted so much to be near you! So many times I longed to comfort you, to stroke your soft hair and to wipe away the tears that you could never shed. Oh, Oscar. It pained my heart so. My angel, my littlest daughter. Look how dirty your long hair is. I should brush it to remove the knots and the earth and the blood, just so that it may shine again. One by one I raised your sisters, did their hair, and let them be plucked by their suitors, knowing that their lives would not be that dissimilar to the one I led. But how I wish them happiness, how I wish that they do not have to face this…This…I want to brush your hair, my daughter, but just look at how my hand shakes. Look, daughter…look, it shakes so…

However you chose to live, I do hope that you found love. That is the true happiness in life. How I wish I could have talked to you about this. You do not answer me... Soon our turn will come. The revolution will not treat this family kindly. I suppose we will be caught, bound and put on trial for our liaisons with the Royal Family. What is it like to die, Oscar?

From the day you wore your first uniform, your body glowing with pride, I accepted your choice and steeled my nerves. But I could never imagine it. Not like this. Not now. Will this house remain silent forever? A whisper? A cry?!

Oscar, your beautiful hair…Oh! Oh, my brave little girl! It was not your time to go…

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**A/N: **My first Lady Oscar story. Please let me know if it was too sentimental. I tried to keep it low-key. 


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